Coffee and Confessions
by starry19
Summary: 5x07 Tag - "Jane was waiting in her office when she pushed open the door, looking like he was full of nervous energy. She recognized his demeanor and it made her distinctly uneasy. The last time he had been in the building looking like that, he had told her he loved her and then summarily shot her."
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: This is going to be a quick three or four part story, wrapping up before Sunday's episode proves me totally wrong. I'm going to be making a few assumptions in this fic, so humor me.

I'm pretty creeped out by the idea of Lisbon having coffee with Kirkland. Naturally, I decided to write about it. I have some weird notion that he is going to try and date her, and that she is going to be amenable to the whole thing. Can you imagine...Lisbon dating (the guy we're at least supposed to think is) Red John?

And does anyone else think that Kirkland looks a little like Tim Olyphant from Justified? All he needs is a cowboy hat and a shot of whiskey.

One other note that I have to squee about: Let's assume Kirkland is RJ (big assumption, I know). He called Jane "Mr. Jane" at the end of 5x07. And I'm sure we all remember how the note that was left on Jane's bedroom door started out. My brain about exploded when that happened.

There is also a possibility that I'm insane, but whatever.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. The end.

**Coffee and Confessions**

Her phone rang at midway through the morning. It was a welcome distraction from the circles she was spinning in her mind.

Tommy Volker was consuming her. The idea that the son of a bitch could murder an entire village, cover it up, murder his assistant, and go on living like nothing had happened made her sick. And then, he'd had the audacity to threaten her, threaten her job, and talk down to her as though she was an idiot that had wandered into a situation she couldn't possibly understand.

It was becoming an obsession, she realized that. A burning desire to see the man wearing prison orange with no hope of parole. To wipe that smug, arrogant smirk off his face for good.

The problem was in the evidence. Namely, the fact that she didn't have anything substantial, anything beyond extraordinarily circumstantial proof.

But it was out there somewhere. And she would find it.

However, it wasn't looking like she was going to find it today. She had come up against multiple dead ends, potential witnesses who swore they hadn't seen or heard a thing, and sealed files. She wanted to bang her head against the wall.

The team was worried about her, she knew. Without ever saying a word, they had jumped on board with her investigation, looking up facts and double-checking statements in their limited free time.

Jane, predictably as of late, was no where to be found.

She was losing him again.

There were days now when the only time she would see him was when his supply of tea in the attic reached dangerously low levels and he was forced into the break room. She remembered the first time she had found him up in the bare, drafty room.

The only things there had been a rickety chair and a mattress he had pilfered from God knows where. Now...now it was like he had been feathering his nest. Every time she was there, it seemed like he had accumulated something else.

Lately, she had tried to avoid the room at all costs. Jane had made it perfectly clear that he didn't need or want her help, and she'd be damned if she would offer it again.

It wasn't as though she didn't know what he was doing. He was busy concocting some idiotic scheme to get Lorelei Martins out of whatever supermax prison she was in. She saw two possible outcomes for this.

One, he would fail miserably and wind up in jail himself.

Two, he would succeed.

Either way, she hoped he knew that she wouldn't be able to save him. She had already wasted every favor, every ounce of influence she'd ever had, to get him out of other scrapes. He was well and truly on his own.

She only prayed that she would have the strength to tell him that when he came to her.

The phone rang for a second time, jerking her out of her morose thoughts. She grabbed the receiver. "Lisbon," she said.

"Agent Lisbon," came a male voice on the other end. "This is Bob Kirkland. From Homeland Security?"

She sat up a little straighter. "Mr. Kirkland," she said. "To what do I owe the honor?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Call me Bob," he instructed. "And I was wondering if today would be a good time to buy you that cup of coffee. I'm in Sacramento for a meeting this afternoon, but my morning is pretty open."

"Do you have some information for me about Volker?" she asked, feeling a stirring of hope.

"Some," Kirkland told her. "Again, much of it requires a higher security clearance than you have, but I think what I _can_ tell you will be helpful."

She smiled. "Then today would be an excellent day to go for coffee."

XxXxXxXxX

An hour later, she was in line at the small coffee shop around the corner from the office, keeping an eye out for Kirkland. She was a little early, but she had been far too eager to wait for long at her desk.

Absently, she perused the chalkboard menu. If she was being honest with herself, she should probably opt for something decaf. Realistically, she knew she wouldn't.

A hand touched her elbow lightly. "Agent Lisbon."

She turned and found Kirkland smiling at her. He was handsome enough, in a rough sort of way. The streaks of white in his dark hair lent him a distinguished look, one she discovered that she was surprisingly attracted to.

Too late, she wished she would have checked her make-up before she'd left.

"Hi," she said. "It's good to see you again."

His grin widened a touch. "You, too." He gestured to the small grouping of tables around them. "What are you drinking? I'll order, you go grab us a seat."

She rattled off her request, then settled herself at a table in front of the large front window. A few minutes later, Kirkland joined her, handing her the insulated cup.

"I have to admit," he told her, "I felt like an idiot ordering a cup of regular coffee here. I think the barista was judging me."

Lisbon laughed, taking a sip of her foamy beverage. "He probably was."

Kirkland took a drink of his own, the muscles in his face tightening almost imperceptibly. He sat the cup down with a soft clunk.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He gave her a small, almost embarrassed smile. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not a coffee drinker. Give me tea any day."

"You know they have that here, right?"

"Oh, I know," he told her. "But I figured the barista wouldn't be the only one judging me if I came back here with tea. I was with the FBI for a decade before I joined Homeland Security, so I know that a dislike of coffee is is sacrilege in the cop world."

She laughed again, a little touched that he was trying to impress her, at least in a small way. "Your secret is safe with me, I promise."

"I appreciate your discretion," he said solemnly, then smiled once more before leaning slightly across the table. "Now," he said. "Volker."

She mimicked his pose unconsciously.

"He's currently out of the country," Kirkland said. "Back in South America, probably trying to wipe some other poor village off the map."

Lisbon felt her face tighten. "Unfortunately, I can't nail him for that. I'm more interested in crimes he's committed in the United States. I'm looking for anything I can nail his ass with - tax evasion, unpaid parking tickets, anything."

"You won't find anything that way," he said. "Volker is scrupulous about that sort of thing. He wants to ensure he can't be taken down for something so trivial."

She frowned. "I thought you said you had some information for me." It sounded like he was warning her off again.

"I do," he promised, reaching for a briefcase she hadn't noticed before. He withdrew a folder and handed it to her. "Don't open it here," he said.

She pressed her fingers into the manilla card stock embossed with the Homeland Security seal.

"It contains some of Volker's recent bank transactions. There are a few I'm sure you'll be interested in."

Her brows furrowed. "We already pulled his financials," she said, disappointed now.

Kirkland smiled again, his white teeth flashing. "You pulled his financials from the bank accounts you knew about. But I'm assuming it's difficult to find information on something you didn't even know existed."

The back of her neck started to prickle. "He has hidden accounts," she murmured, more to herself.

"Absolutely," Kirkland said. "Some are very well hidden. If he wasn't being investigated by DHS so deeply, we would have never found them. As it was, we had to get the CIA involved to get our information."

There was something not adding up in her mind, however. "I thought you warned me against looking into this," she said, eyes sharpening.

"I did," he admitted. "But then I realized it really wasn't fair to you. Your department has a phenomenal history of closing cases, and I figured you deserved a shot. Besides, we've reached a bit of a standstill on our end, and fresh eyes might do us some good."

"Thank you," she said, fingers smoothing over the file again.

"A word of warning though, Agent Lisbon." He was quite serious again. "I know you're willing to get Volker for any crimes he's committed. But I am telling you right now, you should only focus on the murders of Amanda Shaw and Cassie Flood. Anything else is out of your jurisdiction."

Instantly, she felt her defenses rise. "If I uncover evidence of other crimes, it's my job to prosecute him for them," she said, an edge to her voice.

Kirkland shook his head. "Not this time it's not. I don't want to sound patronizing, but Volker is involved in things that the CBI simply isn't equipped to deal with."

They had a staring contest for a brief moment, and she thought she saw sincerity in his eyes.

"Fine," she finally said. "But what if I happen to come across something during the murder investigations?"

"You call me," he told her, pulling out his card and scribbling a number on the back of it. "This is my cell. I always have it on me, day or night, so call whenever."

She tucked the card into her pocket. "Thanks."

There was a moment of silence. "I should probably be getting back," she said, almost regretfully.

He nodded, looking thoughtful.

She stood, and he followed. "Thank you for the coffee," she smiled. "And the new leads."

He grinned back. "You're very welcome for both."

Jane was waiting in her office when she pushed open the door, looking like he was full of nervous energy. She recognized his demeanor and it made her distinctly uneasy. The last time he had been in the building looking like that, he had told her he loved her and then summarily shot her.

"What's up?" she asked, trying for nonchalance. She tossed the file on her desk.

His eyes followed the gesture absently. "Where have you been?" His tone was almost sharp.

"Meeting with Homeland Security," she said, annoyed. "Why?"

"I wanted to ask for the next couple of days off," he told her, and her heart sank. He was going ahead with his plan, whatever it was.

"Can I ask why?" she said, knowing he was about to lie to her again.

"My great aunt Shirley died," he said casually.

She turned away for a moment and closed her eyes, feeling her anger rise. "Try again," she whispered.

"Deniability," he said quietly, his standard response to most of her questions these days.

She sighed, perching on the edge of her desk. "I feel obligated to tell ask you not to do whatever the hell it is you're planning."

"Consider your duty fulfilled." His expression was unreadable, unyielding.

"Then you should know that I won't be able to save you this time," she whispered.

He stood, coming to stand a few feet in front of her. "It was never your job to save me, Teresa.

"Someone had to."

He reached for both of her hands, and she could feel his rapidly thundering pulse. Whatever he was planning, it set him on edge. "You've come with me further than anyone. I won't forget that."

In that moment, she knew that he understood the risk involved. He knew there was a very high probability that this would come crashing down around him. And he was willing to go forward anyway, willing to run the risk of taking himself away from her for the rest of their lives, if not by his death, then by a prison term.

Unexpectedly, she felt a tear run down her cheek.

He brushed it away. "Don't give up on me just yet."

"You're not giving me a lot of options here," she choked out, struggling for composure.

Carefully, he tapped his fingers against the cross around her neck. "Have a little faith."

"Don't go," she whispered, aware that she was begging but not able to care.

He shook his head. "I'm too close to stop now. I don't have any options, either."

She took a deep breath for courage. "You could stay with me."

His expression softened, eyes bright. "I would if I could," he breathed. "Believe me."

There was no response she could make that would change his mind, so she kept silent, fully aware that this could be the very last time she saw him. Dimly, she was surprised she hadn't collapsed in a heap.

Jane studied her face, and she wondered what he saw. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leaned down, giving her enough time to run if she wanted to.

In point of fact, she didn't think she could move if her desk was on fire.

The first brush of his lips against hers was feather-light, barely there. The second pass was firmer, warmer.

She threw her arms around his neck before the third go-around, pulling him as close as she could get him.

He stumbled off-balance for a moment, resting his palms on the desk behind her for support. Then he took her face in his hands and let her feel the full force of his passion.

Her hands were in his hair, a long-standing fantasy. It felt like his lips were everywhere - against hers, tracing down her jawline, fluttering against her temples.

Her blood sang in her veins, heart pounding in her chest. Abruptly, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

His breathing sounded as ragged as hers. "For luck," he whispered, touching her lips with the tip of one finger.

Then he was gone, door swinging shut behind him.

She stared stupidly long after he was gone from her sight, wondering if he would ever be back. Blessedly, she felt emotionally detached. She knew it was a defense mechanism, a way of coping with the upheaval and turmoil she knew was present under the surface.

He would go through with his plan, she knew.

It wasn't until later that she realized he had taken her cross with him.

She hoped it would protect him, since she couldn't. More than anything, she hoped he would be able to give it back to her himself.

_Have a little faith_, he had whispered.

So she did the only thing she could.

She prayed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Do I think Kirkland is RJ? I think it would be very easy, which is why I am hesitant to go with my initial instinct. Of course, like many people have pointed out, maybe Bruno knows we'll all think that, and Kirkland really is RJ.

Damn you and your mind games, Bruno Heller.

Just kidding! But can Jane and Lisbon kiss now? Pleeease?

Keep in mind people...Lisbon doesn't know what we know about Kirkland! And if he _is_ RJ, then clearly he can be very charming and persuasive. And I think it would be too much of a temptation for him to not make a play for Lisbon. Besides, they do funny things on The Mentalist...remember Kristina Frye? I thought the only thing Jane felt for her was contempt, and then he went and asked her out.

This is also where I am exercising dramatic license...I just saw the extended preview for Red Sails, and some of it just isn't going to work for me. Like Jane in a cowboy hat, for example, among other things.

**Disclaimer**: They continue to be not mine.

**Coffee and Confessions, Part II**

Jane had been gone for three days before she got the phone call from Bertram, telling her that Lorelei Martins had escaped from the supermax facility located a few hours southwest of Sacramento.

Although she knew it was coming, she still closed her eyes and hung her head. He had succeeded, then. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse than him failing.

"Please tell me Jane had nothing to do with it," Bertram was saying, clearly under a massive amount of stress. "Please tell me he hasn't left your sight in the past twenty four hours."

She couldn't lie, especially when it could be so easily verified. "I haven't seen Jane in three days, sir."

On the other end of the line, Bertram swore loudly. "I don't suppose there's any chance he's not involved with this." It wasn't a question, so she didn't answer.

"Get your people on this," the director said after a brief pause. "I'm having Brenda put their pictures all over the news."

"Sir," she interjected quickly. "Do you have any proof Jane was involved? If you don't, it seems a little presumptuous to-"

"Lisbon, you and I both know Jane is behind this," Bertram interrupted. "The longer we wait, the less change we have of finding either of them."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly, knowing this was a fight she wouldn't win.

After Bertram hung up, she sat with her head in her hands for a few minutes. Though this wasn't quite her worst nightmare, it wasn't far off.

She wondered how many betrayals she could go through and survive.

With a deep, bracing sigh, she pushed up from her desk, smoothing her hair back. Her legs felt like rubber, her heart like lead.

The bullpen was bustling with activity. Cho glanced up at her as she walked in the room. Whatever he saw on her face apparently alarmed him.

"What happened?" he asked with his usual directness.

She clung to his stoic demeanor, using him as her rock. He had been with her longer than anyone, and she relied on him far more than she let on. She was grateful that he liked to be where he was, and hadn't applied to be head of his own unit. Not yet, anyway.

Her thoughts were rambling, and she tried to marshal them. The rest of the team was looking at her now, too.

"Lorelei Martins escaped from supermax this morning," she said, emotionlessly as possible.

After her three detectives exchanged mildly horrified glances, they all turned to stare at Jane's conspicuously empty couch.

"Director Bertram feels strongly that Jane is involved in this somehow," she went on, her own eyes looking at the worn leather.

"No shit?" Rigsby muttered.

"He did ask me how to break into a supermax," Cho said to the team at large. "I told him it was impossible."

"Apparently it's not," she deadpanned.

There was a loaded silence as everyone wondered what their next step was. "Find them, people," she finally said.

For the rest of the morning, they put together a timeline on the whiteboard, complete with pictures. As best she could, she avoided looking at Jane's picture, his green eyes seemingly mocking her.

Around noon, she heard someone call her name from the entrance to the bullpen. Turning, she saw Kirkland, looking very serious.

Quickly, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. "Mr. Kirkland," she said, "I'm afraid you've found us at a very bad time. Did something new happen with Volker?"

He blinked. "Volker?" Kirkland shook his head. "That't not why I'm here, Teresa." He nodded towards the whiteboard behind them.

She frowned. "Why is Homeland Security involved in this?"

"Do you know who we keep in supermax prisons? The worst of the worst. There are definitely people in there with ties to known terrorists. It makes the government very nervous when inmates start escaping." He scanned the board again.

"Are you taking jurisdiction from us?" she demanded, as defensive as she ever was when someone was threatening her cases.

"Not at all," Kirkland assured her. "Lorelei Martins isn't a terror suspect, after all. I'm just here to act as a consultant. And to figure out how this happened."

"Just what I need," she muttered to herself. "Another consultant."

Across the room, Grace was setting up the phone monitoring equipment. Kirkland followed her eyes. "Have you tried contacting Jane yet?"

"His phone is off," she said. "At least for now."

He nodded. "Do you know who he's working with? I'm sure you've figured out that it's impossible to break someone out of a facility like that all on your own."

Lisbon shrugged. "His phone records should be here soon. It was more difficult than we expected to get a warrant for them. As of yet, we don't have any definitive proof that Jane was even involved at all."

Kirkland held her gaze. "But you don't doubt it, do you?"

She smiled without humor. "Not for a second." There was a moment when she regretted saying it, a second where she felt like she had betrayed Jane when it had become second nature to defend him to the death.

But his picture hanging on the crime board told her that ship had already sailed. The best she could do now was to make sure it was her team that caught him. What she would do then was beyond her, but it seemed imperative that she was the one that found him.

Kirkland lightly touched her arm. "It'll be alright, Teresa," he said.

Unexpectedly, her phone rang. Jane's picture flashed on the screen.

"Grace!" she practically yelled. "He's calling."

Within a few seconds, they had set up the tracing software. "Keep him talking for as long as you can," Grace said. "We need two minutes to get a lock on his location."

Hands shaking slightly, she pressed the answer button.

"Jane," she said, her even tone of voice surprising herself.

"Hello, Lisbon," he responded, as lightly as ever.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes on the tracking software.

"Oh, you know," he remarked nonchalantly. "Taking in the scenery." He paused. "I assuming you're tracking my call."

"That seems pretty likely, given the circumstances," she said slowly.

"Then I'll keep it short. I'm just calling to let you know that I'm alright, since apparently that was a big sticking point for you when I was in Las Vegas."

She was a silent for a moment. He was calling to reassure her? "That's very thoughtful of you," she said.

"Someday, Teresa, I hope I get the chance to apologize properly for all of this." His voice was wistful now.

"Me, too," she all but whispered.

There was another pause. "I do love you, you know," he said, and she knew exactly what his face would look like.

Suddenly, she was angry. She had worked with him for ten years, and been in love with him for almost that long. Apparently, he felt something for her as well, but the only time he could tell her was before he pretended to kill her or when he had done something so illegal that he was facing the wrath of the entire federal government?

"No, you don't," she said, without thinking. She could hear the edge her words had, the hurt.

He hadn't expected her response. "Excuse me?" he said.

"Maybe you think you do, when it's convenient for you. Or maybe you do according to your own stupid terms. But you don't, not really." She took a deep breath. "So I'm letting you take your words back again, since you will anyway."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the rest of the team staring at her, shock evident on their faces. She didn't have the liberty to regret the very public venue she had chosen to have this conversation in. Besides, it was certainly keeping him talking.

"At what point did I take it back?" Jane demanded, and she heard the echoing anger in his words.

"That would be when you pretended to not remember saying it," she said, voice dark.

"Really?" he asked, incredulous. "You want to talk about that now? You have an amazing sense of timing."

"Thanks to your latest stupid idea, Jane, I think that now is about the only time we'll get to talk about it." Grace's computer beeped, telling her that she had kept him on the line for long enough.

He seemed to realize at the same time that he had let the call go on too long. "Time to go, Teresa. I'll talk to you soon."

There was a click, and the line went dead.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then forced herself to look at the team, straightening her shoulders. "Well?" she asked, using her boss voice. "Where is he?"

After another second of staring, Grace spun back to the screen. "Close to Bishop. I'd guess he's making for the Nevada border."

"Not anymore he won't be," she said. "He knows we tracked his call. He has to change his plan now."

No one said anything still. She felt a wave of annoyance. "So go find him before he manages to slip away again!" she shouted at the team.

Her anger seemed to galvanize them. Cho and Rigsby grabbed their jackets, heading for the exits. Grace picked up the phone, alerting the Bishop police department, and setting up road blocks.

Eventually, she and Kirkland were the only ones left. She turned back to him, her expression daring him to say anything about what had just happened.

He was smirking, just a little. "That was a hell of a stall tactic, Agent Lisbon."

She was grateful for his humor. "Whatever gets the job done, right?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"So," she started, "are you coming with me or not?"

"To Bishop?" he asked. "Absolutely."

XxXxXxXxXxX

Five hours later, they pulled into the city of Bishop, close behind Cho and Rigsby. Jane hadn't made contact again, and the road blocks hadn't yielded a thing. It didn't help that they had no idea what he was driving - the Citroen would have been far too obvious.

Kirkland had been on the phone a few times, his expression intense. "I might have something for you," he said once, by way of explanation. "but I'm waiting until I know for sure. No sense in getting worked up about nothing."

Which, of course, got her worked up.

She parked the small SUV in front of Bishop's tiny police station and exited the vehicle. Cho was waiting on the sidewalk.

"Van Pelt says Bishop PD has started to interview potential witnesses. It's a small enough town that there's a good shot someone saw them."

Lisbon nodded, pausing to let Kirkland catch up with them.

"So what do you think his next play is?" he asked. "Clearly, you know him better than anyone."

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I have no idea. He does stupid things when it comes to Red John leads. I can tell you that his main objective is to get Lorelei to give him Red John."

Kirkland frowned. "Do you think she will?"

"Beats the hell out of me," she said. "Jane seems to think she will, that he can turn her. All insane plans aside, he's usually right about things like that."

Cho spoke up. "So let's assume he's taking her somewhere to talk. He's not going to get too far away from California - he'll need to be in the state to get Red John, and the further away he goes, the more difficult it'll be for him to get back."

Kirkland's phone rang again, and he narrowed his eyes at the number. "Excuse me," he said.

She and Cho walked into the police station, both thinking of potential hideouts within the road blocks that had been set up. They were too unfamiliar with the area, though. It didn't help that Bishop bordered a national park, with thousands of acres of forest.

She refused to think that it was impossible, however. That would get her nowhere.

"Agents," came Kirkland's voice. "I just got off the phone with a friend of mine from the CIA. He owed me a favor, so I had him track Jane's cell."

"It was off, though," Cho reminded him.

Kirkland smiled. "The CIA has some fun toys, Agent Cho." He turned to Lisbon. "Anyway, the signal is coming from a hotel room about an hour south of here."

She beat everyone back to the vehicles, where she waited impatiently, hands tapping on the steering wheel. Kirkland joined her, hurriedly typing an address into the GPS.

Lisbon ran the sirens until they reached the outskirts of the tiny, no name town where Jane's signal was being broadcast from. They pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, throwing gravel and dust.

They had called the front desk on their way in, and had confirmed that a blonde man and a dark haired woman had paid for a room in cash a few hours before.

Kirkland was out of the vehicle before she had unbuckled her seat belt, unholstering his weapon. "I'll take the front door," he said. "You go around the back and make sure that no one goes out the window."

"Shouldn't we wait for Cho and Rigsby?" she asked, pulling out her own gun. "They're not far behind us."

"You think we can't handle your partner and one other woman?" He raised an eyebrow.

It was a fair point. She didn't think Jane was armed, and even if he was, he wouldn't shoot her.

Probably.

She nodded her understanding, circling the building quickly. Adrenaline pumping, she waited with forced patience.

There was the crash of splintering wood as the door was kicked in, then a shout of "Police! Freeze!"

Her eyes scanned the back of the hotel. There was no movement. Tentatively, she took a step back towards the front.

Abruptly, three gunshots rang out in the silence of the afternoon, coming from the room Kirkland had just entered.

She sprinted.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: Four-part story it is!

Still Lisbon's POV, since I'm not even going to attempt to figure out what Jane was doing.

On an unrelated note: I spend a lot of time browsing the wonderful world of Pinterest. Yesterday, under the "Hair and Beauty" tab, I found a picture of Emmanuelle Chriqui. Don't get me wrong – she is absolutely freaking beautiful. But before I could stop myself, I realized I had wrinkled my nose and was practically hissing.

**Coffee and Confessions**

**Part III**

She was almost panting by the time she reached the door to the hotel room. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, like a lead weight.

"Kirkland!" she yelled, pushing past the splintered doorframe. "Jane!"

The first thing she saw was the crumpled body of Lorelei, hair dyed a sunshiny yellow, now stained with blood. There was a gun next to her limp fingers.

She fought off the panic.

"Here," came Kirkland's voice, and she wheeled around. He was standing, but she hardly saw him.

At his feet was Jane, lying face down on the carpet, his own blonde hair streaked with a touch of red.

She staggered over to him, heart in her mouth. Frantically, she reached for his wrist, nearly fainting with relief when she felt a steady pulse. Every stupid thing he had done, every time he had ignored her, all the pain he had caused, ceased to exist in her mind in that second. The only thing that mattered was that she hadn't lost him.

"He's alive," she breathed. "Call an ambulance."

From a distance, she heard the dial tones on Kirkland's phone. "I'm going to flag down Cho and Rigsby," he said, walking back out of the room.

With some difficulty, she got Jane to his back, heart contracting when she saw the rising bruises on his face. Carefully, she pulled his head into her lap, fingers searching for the gash in his scalp. There was a welt the size of a goose-egg behind one ear.

"Jane," she said, lightly tapping him on the cheek. "Jane, wake up."

There was no response.

"Come on, Jane," she urged, the fingers against his cheek gaining more force. "Please."

His forehead wrinkled, eyelids fluttering. He groaned, one hand coming up to run through his hair.

One eye opened slowly, then the other. It took him a moment, but he managed to focus on her face eventually.

"Oh, hey, Lisbon," he whispered, smiling. The bruise on his face caused him to grin lopsidedly, giving him an air of psychosis.

She pushed his hair off his forehead. "What happened?" she asked softly.

Jane blinked several times. "I bought a cowboy hat," he said, finally. His eyes glazed again for a moment, and she wondered how severely he had been rattled.

He found her free hand, grip unexpectedly tight. "Lorelei?" he breathed.

"Dead," she told him, and he let out a sigh.

"Damn," he told her, then groaned again, touching his ribs gingerly.

She followed the movement with a concerned expression. "Jane, what happened to you, specifically?"

"Lorelei happened," he said, turning his head toward the sound of Cho and Rigsby entering the room, Kirkland on their heels. He coughed, and she was alarmed to see a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, guys," he added.

Cho met her worried eyes. "Ambulance will be here soon," he said.

There was silence then, and Lisbon could take a moment to appreciate the picture they must make. A dead body in the foreground, three armed police officers standing awkwardly in a small hotel room, and…her. On the floor with Jane's bloody head cradled in her lap, leaning over him far enough that her hair was partially covering both of them from view. His fingers were still wrapped around hers, a detail she was sure hadn't been overlooked by the rest of the men present.

After what seemed like hours, they heard the sound of wailing sirens approaching.

Her mind was racing. Yes, he was conscious, but he clearly wasn't himself. Oh, God, what if there was some internal injury she couldn't see, something that might be killing him, even now?

And had Lorelei fired at Kirkland? It didn't seem unlikely; she had tried to cut off Jane's fingers once, for God's sake.

She should be sorry that they had lost their link to Red John, but she couldn't force the emotion. Truthfully, selfishly, she was almost glad. One more fetter that Jane could be free of. Although she was guessing it was unlikely that Lorelei hadn't told him anything.

The paramedics stormed through the door, wheeling a stretcher, and she untangled herself from Jane. As grateful as she was for professional help, she missed the warmth of his body against hers.

So she stood between Cho and Rigsby, arms wrapped surreptitiously around herself, watching as the medics checked Jane's vitals and visible injuries.

In the meantime, a second ambulance arrived, and was tending to Lorelei's body.

"Does she have anything on her?" she heard Kirkland ask. "Anything at all?"

"Not that we found," an EMT replied. "We'll let you know if we come up with something, though."

The paramedics refused to let her ride in the back of the ambulance with Jane, which made her very nervous.

"Let's go, boss," Cho said. "Rigsby can go with Kirkland this time."

Shrugging, she followed her second in command to the Suburban. She needed to focus, she knew, needed to get back on track. But, like every time Jane had been hurt, her world revolved around him, and everything else be damned.

They had driven several miles before Cho spoke.

"Boss," he said in his usual emotionless tenor. "About that conversation you had with Jane back at HQ."

She turned, brows furrowing. This was a decidedly unexpected topic of discussion, especially from Cho, whom she suspected would rather be hit by a car than discuss feelings – his or anyone else's.

"What about it?" she asked, with just a hint of warning in her tone.

"When he recovers…" he said slowly, "do you want me to kick his ass?"

For the first time in what seemed like days, she laughed. "It's something to consider, I suppose."

"The offer stands indefinitely. Rigsby is in on it, too."

She felt a wave of affection for her team. Despite all the trouble she had gotten them in, the suspensions, the investigations, they were still loyal to a fault.

"I appreciate it," she said, smiling. "But hopefully it'll be something we can work out on our own."

Cho nodded thoughtfully. "But if that doesn't work, ass kicking makes a solid back-up plan."

She resisted the urge to throw her arms around the man. "It certainly does," she agreed.

XxXxXxXxX

By the time they reached the hospital, Jane had been taken for a CT scan. Rigsby had gone in search of coffee, leaving Kirkland to lounge in the forest green vinyl chairs in the waiting room.

Lisbon took the empty seat on his left. "What happened in there?" she asked, pulling her professionalism around her like a cloak.

"I kicked the door in," he said, clearly replaying the scene in his mind. "I identified myself. The first thing I saw was her, Lorelei, pointing a gun at me. I told her to freeze, but she fired. She missed, wide to the right. I think the bullet is still in the wall, actually. Then I returned fire." He ran a hand through his hair.

"After I knew she was dead, I started checking the rest of the room. I had just found Jane when you came inside." Kirkland's eyes glanced over her shoulder, and she heard approaching footsteps.

A white-jacketed doctor stood in front of them, the ubiquitous stethoscope around his neck. "You're with Mr. Jane, yes?"

Lisbon stood, aware her heart was pounding wildly. "Yes."

The other man sighed. "He has some significant internal bleeding," she said. "We're prepping him for surgery right now."

"Oh, God," she whispered, and she felt Kirkland lightly touch her back.

"However," the doctor continued, "the good news is that his brain is completely fine. He'll have one hell of a headache for a few days, but all things considered, he's very lucky."

"As far as this surgery goes…" Kirkland began, but seemed unsure of how to word his question.

"I see no reason why it wouldn't go well," the doctor said. "Although there is always a risk with surgery, I am very confident in Mr. Jane's chances of making a full recovery." He held their eyes for a moment, making sure they understood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get scrubbed in."

She ran her hands down her face, fighting for control. She was a Senior Agent of the California Bureau of Investigation, for God's sake, and she would _not_ break down in some dingy waiting room in the middle of Nowhere, USA.

"I need to call my director," she said in the general direction of Kirkland.

Bertram answered on the second ring. "Tell me you have good news."

She took a deep breath. "Lorelei is dead. She fired on Kirkland. Jane is on his way to surgery right now. From what we've gathered, Lorelei beat the hell out of him before we arrived."

There was a pause. "_Lorelei_ beat him up? Why? Wasn't he helping her?"

"I have no idea, sir. Jane wasn't particularly coherent. But given the apparent evidence, it certainly doesn't look like they were on the same team." She tried to inject more certainty into her voice than she felt. Maybe, just maybe, she could get Bertram on her side.

"Then why was he even there in the first place, Lisbon?" There was a decided note of skepticism in Bertram's voice.

"Again, sir, I won't know until I talk to Jane, but I imagine he has a reason." She waited for a moment, trying to figure out the direction she wanted to take. "Has anyone from the supermax found evidence linking Jane to the breakout?"

Bertram sighed. "Not a bit. In fact, as far as they can tell, Lorelei orchestrated the whole thing totally without help. That's impossible, I know, but they haven't managed to make a connection with anyone else."

Deep in her heart, she felt a small stirring of hope.

Over the line, she heard a knocking. "Lisbon, I need to go," Bertram said. "I want regular updates, just as soon as you learn anything new."

"Yes, sir," she said, but the call had already ended.

Would it be possible to get Jane out of this?

Abruptly, she remembered that she had sworn she was washing her hands of all of this. All Jane did was manipulate her, use her, and give her nothing in return but paperwork, headaches, and a broken heart.

_I'm thinking that love is strange_. She heard his voice clearly in her mind, and she knew that she could no sooner walk away from him than she could stop breathing. It was unhealthy, ridiculous, and she hated herself for it, but there was nothing she could do.

Besides, it was all probably irrelevant at the moment. He had to make it out of surgery before she worried about his career.

Hell, forget about his career. The first thing she would need to worry about was keeping him out of jail.

Three hours and countless cups of coffee later, the doctor returned to tell them that Jane had tolerated surgery very well, and that he was now in recovery.

By that time, the small room was filled with a small army of law enforcement officers. Kirkland had pulled some strings and had managed to get an assurance that Lisbon could talk to Jane before any formal charges were made. He had repeatedly pointed out that there was no proof Jane had actually helped Lorelei escape.

She assumed he had been on the phone with his Homeland Security colleagues. He seemed better informed than she was. From the way the other officers deferred to him, she realized he had more power than he let on. She wondered what else he did at DHS.

A half hour went by before she was taken back to see Jane. His eyes were opened, though heavy, and under the fluorescent lights, he looked almost ghostly.

"Hey," she said, coming to stand by his bed.

"Hey, yourself," he all but whispered.

"Jane," she frowned, ignoring her instincts to keep the conversation light, "you need to tell me what happened before someone charges you with a felony. There's an entire room full of men in suits outside of those doors, and they want answers."

He cracked a small smile. "I feel great, Lisbon, thanks for asking."

She tamped down her annoyance. "Jane. How did you wind up with Lorelei?"

He read her face, noting her deadly serious eyes, and sighed, shifting himself with a wince. "I was out driving," he said, and she perched on the edge of his bed. "Out of nowhere, I saw her. Obviously, people wandering free from a supermax facility is a bad thing. So I stopped and asked her if she wanted a ride."

"Instead of calling the cops?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I was trying not to spook her," he said. "Anyway, I decided to take the opportunity to get some more information from her. I thought that if I could make her think that I was going to help her escape, she would give me something I could use in return."

"And what were you really planning on doing with her?" There was an edge to her voice that she hadn't intended.

"Leading her back to you, of course," he declared, eyes widening innocently.

She sighed. "You're going to need to lie better than that, Jane."

"Who said I was lying?" He frowned at her. "Lisbon, do you seriously think that I was intending to help a Red John disciple escape? Really? Do you know me at all?"

She held his eyes. "Sometimes I don't, Jane. Not at all. Sometimes I think you're capable of anything."

There was genuine hurt in his expression now, but she found she didn't care. "You'd better get the holes in your story worked out," she told him. "One mistake and you're in prison."

His remark about her knowing who he was had rankled. What she had said was absolute truth – some days, especially lately, he was a total stranger. And he could go to hell for thinking that she should know better.

"I'm sending the rest of the police in now," she said, softly. "Be careful what you say."

She was almost at the door before he spoke again. "Don't you even want to know what Lorelei told me?"

Lisbon turned. "Do I?"

He was smiling again, but it was harsh. "You do. I'm not telling you now, but rest assured, this wasn't all for nothing. I have more than enough leverage to keep me out of prison, Lisbon."

"I hope so," she said, emotionlessly.

She kept her face stoic as she returned to the packed waiting area. Quickly, she scanned the room, eyes finding Kirkland after a moment. He hurried over to her.

"Well?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He's all yours."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Went to type out the title to this. Accidently typed "Burnt Offerings." I think I need a writing break. I have the dumb.

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Coffee and Confessions**

**Part IV**

She would never know what Jane had said to keep himself out of federal custody. It was probably a combination of lies and truth, coupled with the fact that he had just come out of fairly major surgery.

All she knew was that two weeks after Lorelei had originally escaped supermax, she was summoned to Bertram's office in the statehouse.

She met Jane in the elevator, quite by accident. It was a bit of a shock; she had purposely avoided him since their last meeting in the hospital.

Their relationship had twisted in on itself once more, and she found it was much easier to _not_ deal with it. It was a cowardly move, she knew, but she also knew that Jane was perfectly capable of picking up the phone and calling her.

"Hey," he said, giving her a tight smile.

The automatic response was _hey, yourself_, but that was _their_ thing, and she wasn't willing to let him smooth things over once again.

"Hi, Jane," she said instead, pushing the button for Bertram's floor. "You look better than you did the last time I saw you."

It would have been hard to look worse, but still. The bruises on his face were gone, his hair was as orderly as it could be, and the suit he was wearing looked new.

"Thank you," he returned. "I feel better, too."

They lapsed into awkward silence, and she suddenly wished she had worn her hair down for something to hide behind.

_Not_ that she was scared of him, or what he could do to her emotions. It was a natural defense mechanism, that was all, and she had good reason to protect herself.

Blessedly, they reached their floor and exited, Lisbon working on perfecting her stoic face. When she had meetings with the director and Jane was involved, her favorite strategy was to look as impassive as possible. There was never any telling what was going to come out of Jane's mouth, and it was best to not act like she was surprised by any of it.

Despite everything, she still intended to present a united front to the boss.

Bertram's expression was nearly unreadable when they entered the office. If she had to guess, she would say it was apprehensive, with shades of annoyance.

"Sit," he said by way of greeting.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jane wince slightly as he lowered himself into the padded chair.

"Now, Jane," Bertram went on, the tips of his fingers pressed together, "please explain to me using small words why you shouldn't have charges pressed against you for aiding and abetting a fugitive?"

Jane smiled. "Well, for one, you have no proof that I did any of the things you said. In fact, the woman beat me half to death."

She frowned at the reminder, then smoothed her face back out.

"For another," Jane continued, "I know who the mole in the FBI is, and I'm pretty sure you're going to want to hear about it."

"Jane, I'm in no mood to hear about your wild conspiracy theories."

Lisbon could feel herself start to tense. If Bertram wouldn't even listen at all…

Jane smiled in a self-satisfied manner. "No conspiracies here. I have proof. _Your_ kind of proof," he added. "Things that can be seen and touched and verified."

His words had the desired effect. Bertram took a deep breath. "Let's have it."

As was their tradition, Jane never looked at her. She wasn't a very good liar to start with, and he tried to avoid drawing attention to her.

"Your mole is Alexa Shultz."

Tension in the room was instantly palpable.

"Alexa Shultz?" Bertram echoed. "The director of the FBI in California? Jane, I thought I told you that I wasn't interested in any of your crackpot theories. I've worked with Alexa for a long time, and though she might not be my favorite person, I think I can safely say that she is definitely not working with a serial killer."

Jane slipped his hand into his pocket. "I told you I had proof. Irrefutable proof, for that matter, the very best kind."

Suddenly, she wished she would have spoken to Jane sometime in the preceding two weeks. This was beyond his normal brand of revelation. If he was naming moles, moles that happened to have a lot of power in the FBI, she should have known about.

But, again, it wasn't like Jane had forgotten her phone number.

"Let's have it then," said Bertram, clearly annoyed.

From inside his pocket, Jane pulled out her cross, the one he had stolen when he had left the CBI the last time. She tried not to remember that the only reason he had managed to take it from her was because he had cleverly distracted her by putting his tongue in her mouth.

"That doesn't look like proof," the director said, breaking into her admittedly chaotic thoughts.

"Patience," Jane said, flipping the pendant over.

She watched as he deftly peeled off a piece of gold-leafing that had been attached to the back of the necklace, hiding something. Before she would think about it, she was leaning over the arm of his chair.

There was a tiny microchip attached to the backside of the cross. Carefully, Jane pried it off.

"Go get one of your fancy chip reader things," he said, and she couldn't help but be amused at his utter lack of technological knowledge, even as he attempted to expose someone as a career criminal.

Bertram stared for a moment, obviously trying to read Jane's face. Eventually, he reached for his phone. "Get me someone from tech services up here," he said into the receiver. "Tell them it's urgent."

Jane handed the cross back to her, his fingers brushing hers. She was almost certain it was on purpose.

"So how did you come across this?" Bertram asked, gesturing at the microchip.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Jane said. "Confidential source, and all of that."

A vein started to throb in Bertram's temple. "If you're not going to tell me where this came from, how can I trust its accuracy?"

"Oh, trust me," Jane told him. "The information on here is easily verifiable by your fact-checker people. Besides, you want it to be Director Shultz, just a little."

An argument was averted by the arrival of a man in square glasses and a tie just a touch too short, clearly the technical support.

Jane held up the chip. "Ah, my good man. What do we need to get the information off of this?"

After peering at the device for a few seconds, the tech rattled off the names of several pieces of equipment that she had never heard of.

"Can we do that in this office?" Jane asked, though she knew he had even less of an idea what the man was talking about.

The tech straightened his glasses. "Yeah, that won't be a problem at all." He scurried off, and the rest of them tried to settle into their chairs. Jane was the only one that looked comfortable at all.

A half hour later, Bertram was swearing almost constantly under his breath as document after document popped up on his computer screen. She couldn't see enough to make sense of any of it, but she assumed Jane's proof was holding up under his scrutiny.

"This is unbelievable," he kept muttering.

"So," Jane finally said, "I'm assuming this is enough to keep me out of prison? And employed by the CBI?"

Bertram nodded. "You have one hell of a bargaining chip."

"Well, you know me," Jane said. "Go big or go home."

The director dismissed them after that, and she wondered how long it would be before this story broke. She didn't think there was any way that they would be able to keep this hidden from the media. It was going to be too big of a story.

Jane didn't speak until they reached the front doors of the state house.

"Can we talk later?" he asked, stopping in front of her.

She felt her guard go up. "About what?"

"Hm, I don't know." He rolled his eyes. "I imagine we could find a few relevant topics of conversation, don't you?"

She sighed. "Fine. Do you want to come over?" Whatever Jane wanted to say, she knew she didn't want to hear it at work.

"Sure, if that's what you want," he told her. "Shall we say seven?"

So at 6:58 that night, she answered her door. She had taken part of the afternoon off, due to her nerves, and had spent that time compulsively cleaning her apartment. It was something she did when she was nervous.

Jane stood on her doorstep, bottle of wine in one hand, jacket folded over his other arm. "Hi," he said, smiling.

"Come in," she told him, taking the proffered bottle of wine. "Going to get me liquored up before we talk?"

He shrugged. "That's one idea."

She pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, dug around in the drawer for the corkscrew. Filling both glasses liberally, she handed one to Jane before gesturing to her living room.

He sat on her right, fingers tapping absently against his glass. She curled her feet underneath her.

"So," she said. "Let's talk."

Abruptly, he smiled. "You know, this isn't going at all like I had pictured in my mind."

Reluctantly, she returned his grin. "What's on your mind, Jane?"

She could have sworn his cheeks colored slightly. "I kissed you," he said.

Her smile was more genuine this time. "Yes, I noticed that."

"And I told you I loved you twice."

"I noticed that, too," she said, amusement gone now.

He sat his glass down. "You don't have anything to say about that?"

She chewed on her lip, thinking. "I told you what was on my mind the day you called the CBI. I meant to keep you talking, but at the same time, what I said was all true."

"Yeah," he said flatly. "I was worried that it was." Jane stretched out his legs in front of him. "And you've made a point of not talking to me since I woke up from surgery."

"You know, you're just as capable of talking to me as I am of talking to you." She would be damned if he would put this all on her.

"Would it have made a difference if I had called?" He looked as though the answer was honestly important.

"It might have," she said. "It might have made a difference if I knew you wanted to have me around, or talk to me at all."

"Teresa," he said, eyes wide. "In case you've forgotten, everything in our relationship that wasn't strictly friendship has come from me. Every hug, every overture, has all been my doing."

In a shocked moment, she realized that his statement was true. He had been the one to confess his love first, he had been the one to kiss her. And what had she given him?

Well, everything else.

Her heart, her career, her every thought.

"But you're the one that always walks away," she told him, voice soft. "The one that pulls back, hides behind your need for revenge." He didn't get to play the _you're rejecting me_ card.

"I know you hate that," he said, smiling gently again. "But it's the only way I have of protecting you. The less you know, the safer you are."

She shook her head. "That'd be a nice thought if I didn't wind up saving your ass every time you did something stupid without telling me. When are you going to learn?"

Carefully, he reached over and brushed his thumb over her cheek. "I distinctly remember telling you that I was always going to save _you_. I haven't been doing a very good job of that lately, have I?"

She took a sip of wine. "Jane, where is this all coming from, anyway?"

"We're coming to an end with the search for Red John. We're close, so close, that I've started to realize what I might have to give up to get him."

Her brows furrowed, not understanding what he meant.

"I would never sacrifice you, of course. Not ever. I need to you to know that," he said quickly. "But I might have to give up the hope of ever being able to have any sort of real relationship with you."

"Why?" she asked. "If you're worried about Red John thinking he can get to you through me, I think we've already crossed that bridge."

"That's true," he admitted. "But it would be damn difficult to have a relationship with you if I was in prison, wouldn't it?"

She resisted the urge to slap him. "Do you think that matters to me?"

He touched her face again. "Probably not, but it matters to _me_. I've held up a decade of your life already, Teresa. I won't deny you the chance to have a normal life if I'm out of the picture."

"You're an idiot," she told him. "That should be my decision, not yours."

He waved a hand. "Let's table that. There's a more important issue that's been bothering me." He turned directly towards her. "Please tell me why you don't think I love you. Do you think I said it to be funny? Do you think I'm the sort of person that says that sort of thing lightly?"

There was anger burning in his green eyes now.

She chose her words carefully. "The first time you said it, you pretended you forgot. That didn't inspire a lot of confidence in me. And then…you disappeared." Her words came more quickly now. "You ignored me, distanced yourself from everyone, kissed Lorelei in interrogation, and acted like everything I was doing was childish and silly. Like you were some great guru that was being put upon to mentor a five year old." Unexpectedly, she felt moisture pool in her eyes, like she hadn't realized how much he had actually hurt her until now.

He pulled her into his arms suddenly, and for once, she didn't hesitate to embrace him back. He smelled like sandalwood and Jane, his hands warm on her back. She turned her face into his neck, listening to his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her hair. "I never intended to hurt you."

"You did, though," she murmured back. "And you never even noticed. Or maybe you did, and just didn't care."

She felt his lips against her temple. "I care," he said.

Eventually, she pushed back, one hand on his chest. "Then you need to do a better job of proving it."

He raised his eyebrows, almost smirking. "Again with the authoritarianism, Teresa."

She was glad of his humor. It lightened the mood, and there were certain things she was still reluctant to talk about.

"Tell me about what happened with Lorelei," she said, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. "The truth, please."

And to her great surprise, he told her.

When he was through, she stared. "How are you not in prison? Or dead?" she wondered.

He tapped the cross around her neck. "I think I have my own personal guardian angel." His smile was soft.

She snorted. "That's pretty corny, even for you, Mr. Stone Cold Atheist."

He laughed, then kissed her cheek.

"Why did you take my cross?" she asked.

His expression was sheepish. "Well, if you thought the guardian angel thing was corny…" He took a breath. "Despite what you think sometimes, I am aware that there are consequences to actions. I knew there was a good chance that the next time you saw me, I would be behind bars or dead. I also knew that there was nothing you were going to be able to do to help me. I suppose I just wanted to take part of you with me."

"You're right," she said after a moment. "That was corny. But very sweet," she added.

"It also had the added benefit of giving me a place to hide that handy little microchip," he reminded her. "One of my more inspired ideas, if I do say so myself."

He stayed for a while longer, their words light. She had the opportunity to realize how much she had missed him these past weeks. Really, since he had come back from Vegas, even.

Things were not alright between them, not by a long shot.

But they were getting better.

The next day, he threw himself into their new murder case the way he used to. He didn't seclude himself in the attic, didn't sneak off to do his own Red John investigation on the side.

She caught herself smiling once or twice. This was Jane proving he cared, and she was touched.

Kirkland sent her a text in the early afternoon, asking about the Volker case. There were some new leads from the financial records he had given her, but they were currently waiting for some of the red tape to disperse.

He would be caught, though. She would see to it.

Jane pushed the door to her office open just as she was setting her phone down, tea in one hand and coffee in the other. He handed the ceramic mug to her.

"I think it was the boyfriend," he said. "Want to hear my plan?"

She grinned. "Absolutely."

While he was outlining his idea, she took a second to appreciate the novelty of being in the know. She knew why he was doing it, and it meant a great deal.

As they stood, heading for the door, she thought about what he had said the night before about being the one to make all the overtures. Impulsively, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to her. For the first time, she was the one that hugged him.

"I'm glad you didn't die or go to prison," she said into his chest. "I just remembered I hadn't told you that yet."

He trailed his fingers down her back. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'm glad, too."

She let him go as abruptly as she had grabbed him, making for the door again, and pointedly ignoring his smirk.

They would be okay, she decided. In the end, when Red John had been caught and Jane was free, they would move forward, together.

For now, knowing that he was trying to show her he loved her, and in the way she had requested, was enough. It was more than enough, actually.

So for this day, for this hour, she was content.

**AN: **I left the Kirkland thing open on purpose, in case I feel like revisiting that particular story arc. Did I write him as RJ? I left the possibility there, what with the shooting Lorelei (after Lisbon tells him that she thinks Jane could get her to talk) and the tea drinking thing.

I also have a strong suspicion Volker is involved with RJ, too, so that's something I may get around to addressing in the future as well.

The goal for the end of this was to get Jane and Lisbon back to the way they used to be, with maybe something a little more. As much as I would like them to just make out in the middle of the office, I would settle for a nicer Jane at the moment. Sigh. Here's to hoping, folks.

And yes, I was purposely vague on what Jane was up to. Some things are better left to the imagination.


End file.
